


call me (on the line!)

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Kaiju, Dirty Talk, Lonely (and Horny) Bastard Hermann, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Phone Sex Operator Newt, the author took some artistic license with the hotline system, you've got mail but horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: Hermann's stressed, and the man on the other end is more than happy to help him relax.





	call me (on the line!)

**Author's Note:**

> does more need to be said
> 
> i have about three sfw fluff fics to finish up after this LOL

This is, by all accounts, extremely out of character for Hermann.

He’s not the sort to engage in something like this. He has sex, obviously, of course he does, he’s only human, but he usually waits a few dates and gets to know the man in question before inviting anyone up to his bedroom or accepting invitations to bedrooms in return. He’s about committed relationships. It’s simply...well, work has been tough, lately, and he’s instructing a great deal more courses this semester, and he hasn’t had the time to go out on dates or flirt or make an effort for anything, and he just really needs—he wants—

“I really don’t need your life story,” the phone sex operator says, and Hermann winces in embarrassment.

“Of course,” Hermann says, and his hand is sweating around his phone. “I’m sorry, only—I’ve never done this before, you see.”

“You’ve mentioned,” the phone sex operator says, “twice.” He has an interesting voice—not the sort that Hermann would expect for a profession like this. A bit high. A bit scratchy. He lowers that voice a bit, now, somehow managing to sound almost sultry. “Don’t _stress_ about it so much, honey,” he says. “Just have fun.”

Hermann knows he’s blushing. He clears his throat. “Ah. What do you—look like?” He’d like a face to pair to the voice and “name” (the _wildly_ suggestive “Newtinme”, according to the young man who connected him).

“What do you want me to look like?” the operator purrs.

That’s a good question.

“Big and strong?” the operator says. “Strong enough to take care of you? Maybe fuck that tenseness out of you?”

Hermann nearly drops the phone. “You’re certainly _forward_.”

The operator laughs. Hermann is...oddly charmed by it. “This is by the minute, dude, I’m just trying to save you some money.” He waits a moment. “Well?”

Hermann wouldn’t mind a good screwing, in all honesty. “Alright, then,” he says. “Big and strong.”

Hermann’s not quite sure how to go about this—phone sex business. He’s stripped himself down to just his underwear, socks, and a plain t-shirt, and he lays on top of his bedcovers, legs spread very slightly apart. He has a bottle of lube and a box of tissues placed neatly on his nightstand. He’s locked the bedroom door, despite the fact he lives alone. He closes his eyes and pictures _big_ and _strong_. Maybe a nice smile. Sturdy hands, picking Hermann up and tossing him onto the bed.

His cock gives a single, interested twitch.

“What should I call you, honey?” the operator says. _Honey_ , again. No one’s ever called Hermann honey before today.

Hermann only just manages to keep his full name from tumbling from his lips. “Doctor—” he says. “Er. Call me doctor.”

“So you’re a _smart_ guy, huh?” the operator says. “Sexy. What are you wearing, doctor?”

Oh, this is absurd. “A shirt. Underwear.”

“Boxers or briefs?”

Hermann’s face is burning. “Briefs. Is that necessary?”

“You’re here to have _fun_ ,” the operator reminds him, and then switches back to his low, sultry tone. “Briefs, huh. Kinda what I expected, stuffy guy like you. You wanna know what I’m wearing?”

“Nothing, I assume,” Hermann says, mildly derisive, but the man lets out a soft little giggle that makes Hermann’s heart jump in his chest.

“I _could_ be,” the operator says. “Do you want that?”

Big, strong, nude, looming over Hermann and pinning him to the bed; Hermann wedges the phone between his shoulder and his ear and palms himself gently through his briefs. “Oh, yes,” he says, with a soft little groan.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” the operator says, in that same low purr as before. “Are you touching yourself, _doctor_?”

Hermann palms himself a little harder. “Yes. Ah. I am.”

“Picturing me naked?”

“Yes,” Hermann gasps, and squeezes himself; he has no clue what the man looks like, pictures a sort of amalgamation of the favored traits of some of his previous lovers (strong biceps, messy hair, tall) which is—perhaps—a bit shallow. Fuck the tenseness out of you, the man said. Hermann fumbles to open the lube bottle and spreads some on his fingers, slips his hand into his briefs. He pictures being held down, his legs spread apart, some handsome, faceless stud—for lack of a better word—having his way with him. He takes his cock in hand.

“You have a really sexy voice,” the man says out of nowhere, as Hermann rubs his thumb over the head of his cock and bites back his helpless whines, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Sexy accent, too. Oh, doctor, come on, don’t be _shy_ , let me hear you be noisy.”

Hermann squeezes his cock and moans, loud and filthy, then starts jerking himself faster.

“That’s so hot,” the man says, sounding oddly breathy. “Oh, baby, that’s—come on, tell me how it feels, tell me.”

“Good,” Hermann groans, “very good, _oh_ —” The intensity of Hermann’s orgasm startles him—he needs to only tug his cock one more time before he’s spilling over his hand and the inside of his briefs with a sharp cry.

(It has been a very long time since he’s had sex with someone.)

“Did you just—” the operator begins, and Hermann lets out a final, soft moan in affirmation. He wipes his hand on his briefs, then cleans it more thoroughly with a tissue as the operator laughs, clearly stunned. “Shit. Uh. Wow. Okay.”

“I’m very sorry,” Hermann says. He crumples up the tissue. He’s a bit embarrassed, to be frank. His endurance is usually much better. He can’t have made a very good impression. (He was talking to a _phone sex operator_ , Hermann reminds himself. It’s not as if he's dating the man.)

“Hah, it’s fine!” the man says, voice back to normal. “That was fun. You’re kinda cute, you know.”

“I am?” No one’s ever called Hermann cute before, either.

“Yeah. Anyway, you should probably hang up. You’re still getting charged, you know.” Hermann spares a glance at his digital clock—it’s been a full twenty-five minutes. The man has a point. “But please, _doctor_ , call me back whenever you want.”

“Okay,” Hermann says, heart thudding in his chest. “Goodbye?” The phone clicks; an automated voice tells Hermann how much his credit card will be charged. Hermann does not expect he will be calling again.

 

* * *

 

Hermann has never met Dr. Geiszler, as their lecturing schedules have no overlap and he has absolutely _no_ desire to speak to him in person, but that does not mean he cannot properly loathe him.

The matter at hand, you see, is that there is limited laboratory space at their university, which means the STEM departments must _share_ the single lab space _,_ and Hermann was bequeathed with the distinct misfortune of _consistently_ being scheduled for the space the class block after Dr. Geiszler’s. Every single day. And Dr. Geiszler is horrendously messy. So messy, in fact, that Hermann has long since given up on filing complaints to HR about Dr. Geiszler—they simply refuse to take action—and taken to emailing the man directly. Not that Dr. Geiszler acknowledges his emails beyond a simple witty retort or remark about Hermann's chalk dust being just as hard to clean every now and then.

But today the lab was left in a particularly disgusting state by Geiszler’s Biology 101 students, which left Hermann in a particularly tense state, which is why he _does_ end up calling the sex hotline again a mere hour after he returns to his flat for the evening.

“So you requested me, huh?” the same operator as before says.

 _Perhaps_ Hermann requested him.

(“The man I was with last time,” he said to the head operator, “ah—he had a rather high voice.”

“Do you remember his name?” the young man said.

“Ah. Yes.” Hermann did not want to say it aloud. It was so _crass_.

“What is it?”

“Can’t you just look and see to whom I was connected?” Hermann said, and this continued for some time before he finally hissed “Newtinme!” and the line clicked as he was switched over.)

“You were very...discerning, last time,” Hermann explains, face heating once more as if he’s some sort of blushing virgin.

“Discerning,” the operator snorts. “Yeah, okay. Listen, next time—”

Hermann swells with indignation at the implication. “Next time!”

“ _Next time_ , save us both some trouble and just ask for Newt, okay, sweetheart?” the operator says.

“Newt,” Hermann repeats, trying it out. _Newtinme_ makes sense, now, he supposes.

“I don’t give my name out to just anyone,” Newt says. “You should feel special, doc. You know,” he’s switched to the same voice he used the other night, the low, _sexy_ one that makes blood pool straight to Hermann’s cock, “after I hung up on you the other night, I jerked off.”

Hermann inhales sharply. His palms are sweating, just like the other night, and he wipes his free hand shakily on his bare thigh. Still, he manages a scoff. “I imagine you say that to everyone.”

There’s a little metallic rustling noise on the other end. The sound of a zipper, maybe. “No, I really did,” Newt says. “I meant what I said. Your voice is sexy, and you’re cute. All—shy. Inexperienced. It got me _so_ horny. So I jerked off.”

“Oh,” Hermann says, and Newt exhales long and slow. Is Newt...touching himself right now? Hermann’s cock stiffens a bit more; Hermann slicks his fingers with lube before he gently grips himself. He wedges the phone against his ear once more.

“You seem like you’d have a really big cock,” Newt says, voice coiling low and hot in Hermann’s ear, and Hermann strokes up once. “Do you?”

Hermann looks down at himself. He’s average-sized, he supposes. He’s never heard any complaints about it before. Newt won’t know—or care—if he stretches the truth a bit. “Er, yes?”

“Tell me how big,” Newt urges, sounding breathy. “I’m a little small, but I’m _really_ good at taking cock.”

Hermann smears precome over with his thumb and wheezes out a laugh. “I thought you were _big_ and _strong_.”

“I lied,” Newt says, and Hermann can nearly hear his smile. “I’m 5’6”. Is that a problem?”

“No,” Hermann hums, and begins slow, even strokes. “No, it’s not.” Hermann wonders if Newt can tell how tense he is tonight; Dr. Geiszler’s truly left him on edge. His thoughts begin to wander. Hermann’s never spoken to or interacted with the man outside of their usual furious email exchanges, has only the foggiest idea of what Geiszler even looks like—has only caught the most fleeting glimpses of him about campus—but he’s undeniably, and regrettably, attractive. Short and untidy, with tight jeans and thick glasses and arms full of tattoos. Sometimes, Hermann fantasizes about slapping Geiszler across the face. Other times, Hermann fantasizes about shoving Geiszler over his own desk and fucking him.

Short is not a problem.

“I want to sit on that big cock of yours,” Newt says, and Hermann shuts his eyes and— _possibly_ —pictures himself with a lapful of Dr. Geiszler, “and ride you so hard I still feel it a week from now.”

“Yes,” Hermann breathes, and bucks into his fist, nearly dislodging the phone from between his ear and shoulder, “oh, please—”

“I like being fucked _hard_ ,” Newt continues. “Nice and hard. Even after I come, I’d want you to keep going, just hold me down and _use_ me until I cry. Would you do that, baby?”

“ _Yes_. Oh, Newt—!” Hermann moans, unable to help himself, hand whipping over his cock, and Newt echoes his moan.

“Say my name again,” Newt begs. “I like how you say it. Come on—”

“Newt,” Hermann repeats, voice an embarrassing whine, “ _Newt_ ,” but he’s imagining Dr. Geiszler’s infuriating, smug face contorted in pleasure, his legs spread wide, his ass tight around Hermann’s cock, and Hermann twists his hand and comes with a grunt.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Newt gasps, and then there’s several seconds of labored breathing through the line. When Newt speaks again, he sounds...as if he’s just come as well. “Hey, nice, I totally jizzed my pants.”

Hermann makes a face. “Oh, don’t be crass.” He’s aware of how ridiculous the request sounds, after what they’ve just done.

“I did!” Newt insists. “Like I said. You get me all horny, doctor. I love it. Call me again, okay? Please?”

The line clicks off, and Hermann’s informed of his charge.

 

* * *

  

“Tell me what you like,” Newt says the next time Hermann calls (because oh, he knows it’s all apart of the act, he knows Newt treats all the poor, lonely bastards who call him like this, Hermann’s not special, but he _likes_ Newt and the little noises Newt makes). “I told you what I like. It’s only fair.”

“No you didn’t,” Hermann says.

“Alright,” Newt says. “I like getting screwed by cute, nervous, shy guys like you. What do you like? You a dirty talk kinda guy? You like being insulted? Hit?”

“Ah,” Hermann stammers. “Not—no.”

Newt continues. “ _I_ like being called names. And having my hair pulled. I might let you push me around a little, too. Tie me up, if you’re into it. Oh,” Newt lets out another one of those too-innocent laughs, “maybe you’re a dudes-in-fancy-panties guy.”

Hermann does not bother concealing the noise he makes, though he knows it gives him away immediately. It’s rare that he finds a man who will indulge him in that certain proclivity in bed, but Hermann _loves_ it, loves the feel of satin and lace against his cock or his mouth and the way pink looks pulled taut against skin.

“You are!” Newt exclaims. “You’re a dream come true, doctor. Would I be the one dressing up, or you?”

“You,” Hermann says, and adds, heart pounding, “and—ah—in stockings, too—only, of course, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Stockings,” Newt sighs happily. “Pink ones?”

Hermann repeats the same noise as before.

“Pink ones,” Newt also repeats.

 

* * *

 

After the sixth time Hermann calls—after he and Newt get off _together_ five times—Newt ends the call a little differently. Hermann’s a little doubly riled-up from this session, to be quite frank; Newt was so _loud_ tonight, so enthusiastic, kept talking about how badly he wanted Hermann’s (“big”) cock in him, and Hermann—perhaps—got a bit carried away in his descriptions of alternating between fucking Newt with his cock and fucking Newt with his fingers (and then going back to using his cock).

“Hey,” Newt says, out of breath, “listen, I’m having a _lot_ of fun with you. Uh. This is...kind of weird, but—can I just give you my private number?”

Hermann startles. “Your…?”

“I wouldn’t mind doing this with you for, you know,” Newt says, “free. If you want to, I mean. Don’t feel pressured.”

“Ah,” Hermann says, feeling pleasantly warm. “Yes. Alright, then.”

 

* * *

  

Next time, Hermann calls Newt directly, at the weekday and time Newt tells him to. Hermann got home from the university a bit late, so by the time he showers, changes into pajamas, sends a quick response to Dr. Geiszler’s response to Hermann’s passive-aggressive email to Dr. Geiszler reminding him to _please_ clean up after himself tomorrow, and gets into bed and slicks his hand up, it’s already ten in the evening. Newt answers on the third ring.

“Oh, good!” he says, and instantly switches into his flirty persona. “I thought you weren’t going to call. I would’ve been _so_ disappointed.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermann says, and he sighs audibly as he stretches his leg; it’s been a long day, and his knee is aching him like it hasn’t in a while. “I had...a stressful day.”

“Hey, it’s cool,” Newt says, sounding normal again. “Uh. Do you want to...talk about it?”

The words spill out before Hermann can help himself. “Have you ever had to deal with an _extraordinarily_ annoying colleague?” he says, and then instantly realizes what a stupid question it is; for all he knows, this is Newt’s only job, and he likely doesn’t have to deal with too many people who aren’t clients. But Newt just laughs.

“Dude, tell me about it,” he says. “This one guy I work with has the world’s biggest stick _permanently_ jammed up his ass. I can’t do anything right.”

Hermann manages a smile. “I have the opposite problem, I’m afraid,” he says. “I don’t expect my colleague has taken anything seriously in his life.”

“The worst part is that he’s totally hot, too,” Newt continues. “I kinda just want to suck his dick to shut him up already.”

“Ah,” Hermann says, flushing, and then he confesses, “I fantasize about my colleague too, sometimes.”

“Oh?” Newt says, and he’s his teasing, flirty self again. “Tell me about those fantasies, doctor. What do you want to do to him?”

“You don’t have to—”

“Nah,” Newt says. “It’s kinda sexy. Go on.”

Hermann clears his throat. He hasn’t bothered to put anything on beneath his pajama bottoms, which are already beginning to tent from just the sound of Newt’s voice alone. “Well,” Hermann says. “He’s...attractive.”

“Ooh, descriptive.”

Hermann rolls his eyes and clears his throat again. Oh, to hell with it, it’s not like Newt is ever going to _meet_ the man. What does Dr. Geiszler look like? Short. Freckled. Pink lips. Those bloody glasses. “He has a face I would very much enjoy fucking.”

“Now we’re talking,” Newt purrs. “What else?”

Before Newt, Hermann’s masturbation fantasies almost solely featured the _wildly_ irritating Dr. Geiszler in a multitude of increasingly explicit positions: Dr. Geiszler, nude, his ankles hooked over Hermann’s shoulders as Hermann fucks him into the mattress (as punishment for some transgression Hermann usually invented for the fantasy, varying upon his mood); Dr. Geiszler riding Hermann in Hermann’s desk chair; Dr. Geiszler sucking needily on Hermann’s fingers while Hermann jerks them both off furiously; Dr. Geiszler with Hermann’s release painting his face and glasses and hair.

Dr. Geiszler bending over in those skinny jeans to pick something up that he dropped in the quad, three weeks ago, denim straining tight. “He has an ass that I—well,” Hermann trails off, embarrassed. “You know.”

“I bet you want to just bend him over something,” Newt says, “and make him take that big cock of yours.”

(Early on, Newt realized how easily Hermann is affected by Newt saying _cock_ in that odd, scratchy voice of his, and he enjoys taking advantage of this whenever possible. Hermann can’t say he minds it.)

“I do,” Hermann admits.

“Maybe smack him a bit. Jerk off on his back.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Hermann groans, and frantically fumbles with the drawstrings of his pajama bottoms. He immediately starts stroking himself.

“I’m kinda jealous, doctor,” Newt says. “It sounds like you really dig this guy.”

“Not at _all_ ,” Hermann snarls, but he groans again, even louder, and he hears the tell-tale signs of Newt’s little gasps as he starts masturbating as well, “I _loathe_ him. _Oh_. Tell me—tell me about your colleague.”

“I want him to fuck _my_ face,” Newt gasps. “Just—hold me in place and—make me—”

“Yes,” Hermann encourages him, “yes, Newt, yes—”

They don’t speak, after that, simply listen to each other jerk off and gasp (Newt occasionally moans _harder_ or _yes, yes_ , and Hermann says _good, very good_ , because he found out earlier on as well that Newt likes flattery) and when they reach orgasm within seconds of each other, Hermann comes to the conclusion that this is the oddest sexual encounter he’s ever had.

 

“Goodnight,” Newt mumbles afterwards. He sounds as if he’s dozing off already. It’s...endearing, for lack of a better word. It makes Hermann smile, makes him hold the phone a little closer to his ear.

“Goodnight, Newt,” Hermann says.

 

* * *

 

Hermann calls Newt’s private number three more times after that. The first time, they jerk off together again—they revisit the lingerie scenario, to Hermann’s delight, and Newt _insists_ he’s wearing actual panties for the occasion (even if Hermann doesn’t believe him). The second time, Newt uses a dildo on himself (“A big one,” he insists, “a very big one.”) and Hermann comes only a few minutes in. The third time, they complain in vague terms about their colleagues again. (“He doesn’t bloody _listen_ ,” Hermann fumes, as Newt says of his own “He needs to get laid _badly_.”)

(“I really like talking to you,” Newt confesses that night, right before they bid each other goodbye. “I know we haven’t _talked_ much, but—I don’t know. I like you, dude.”

“I like you too, Newt,” Hermann says, because it’s the truth.)

 

* * *

 

Hermann only wanted to enjoy lunch in peace in his office. He rarely ever goes to the campus dining hall—perhaps once a month, typically if he’s forgotten to buy bread or overslept and hadn’t the time to make lunch in the morning—but he made the mistake of stepping in to buy a bottle of water and was accosted by Mr. Choi of technology services. Accosted is the wrong word; Hermann likes Tendo, considers him an acquaintance, at least, but Tendo insists Hermann join him at his table to catch up a bit. “Geiszler’s there, too,” Tendo says, as he leads Hermann—by force—to the table. “You guys share the lab, right?”

Hermann groans and nearly turns on his heels on the spot. “Unfortunately,” he says.

But Geiszler’s already spotted them, and is waving—a bit too cheerfully—at Hermann. Hermann doesn’t know if he can face Geiszler for a variety of reasons: reason one, the very angry email he sent Geiszler not two hours ago, reason two, the fact that Hermann jerked off to the thought of fucking Geiszler over his desk not two weeks ago. Smug bastard. Geiszler can probably _tell_ , somehow. Geiszler pushes up his chunky glasses—they’d slipped down his freckled nose—and gives Hermann a little once-over once Hermann settles his cane against the table and eases into the seat adjacent to Tendo’s.

“This is Dr. Hermann Gottlieb,” Tendo says to Geiszler, as if Geiszler doesn’t very well know who Hermann is. “Hermann, this is Dr. Newton Geiszler. I’m guessing you two kinda know each other already, though.”

“Do we,” Geiszler says, grinning, and he sounds so wretchedly familiar that Hermann nearly frowns. “Dr. Gottlieb and I email _very_ frequently.” Geiszler holds his hand out to Hermann, and it’s then that Hermann places his voice. “Just call me Newt, man.”

Hermann’s blood runs cold. “N-Newt?” he stammers.

“Uh, yeah,” Geiszler says, and his grins turns a little bemused. “Newt. No one calls me doctor.”

Hermann stands shakily, grabs his cane, and bolts without another word.

 

Hermann hides in his office the rest of the day, and when he makes it back to his flat, he lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling for a very long time. He’s scheduled to have another call with Newt—with _Dr. Geiszler_ —tonight. He’s not sure if he can bring himself to pick up the phone, let alone dial the number. It was one thing to masturbate to his colleague in peace, without anyone—and especially not his colleague—knowing; it was one thing to masturbate to a phone sex operator. It was another thing entirely to admit to masturbating to his colleague to a phone sex operator who also happens to be the colleague in question. What if Dr. Geiszler—Newt—finds out who he really is? What will he _say_? Hermann could never show his face at the university again.

It’s ten minutes past his usual time block with Newt. With Dr. Geiszler. Newton Geiszler. Of _course_ Newt was short for _Newton_. Fifteen minutes past. Hermann’s phone buzzes; he’s not surprised to see Newt’s name on the caller ID. He lets it go to voicemail. Newt calls again, five minutes later, and Hermann lets that go to voicemail too.

What does he _do_?

Hermann calls him, eventually, a good forty minutes past when they usually talk. Newt answers after only a single ring. “Oh, good,” Newt says, sounding relieved. “I thought—I don’t know. You got tired of me, or something.”

“No,” Hermann says, and Newt keeps talking.

“How was your day? Mine was _weird_. You know that colleague, right, the one I was telling you about?”

“Yes,” Hermann says, and it’s then he remembers that Newt confessed to wanting to have sex with him, too. The thought is not comforting: it’s just another reason for Newt to loathe him after this. If he’d known Hermann was Dr. Gottlieb, there was no possible chance he would’ve confessed those thoughts to him. Hermann betrayed his trust without even realizing it.

“I’m about a hundred percent sure this guy hates my guts. I said hi to him and he fucking _ran_ , dude.” Newt sighs. Hermann’s stomach twists with guilt. “I guess I deserve it. I mean, I’m  _kind of_ an asshole. But it still made me feel like shit.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Hermann says quickly. “I’m sure he was just—”

“I really wanted him to like me,” Newt continues over him. He sounds genuinely miserable. “He’s so _smart_ and has all these amazing papers published and I was just trying to be...I don’t know. Flirty, I guess, when we emailed. I screwed it all up, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, Newt,” Hermann says, feeling just as miserable.

“I don’t think I’m up for anything tonight,” Newt says. (To Hermann’s great relief. He could not, in good conscience, have proceeded in anything remotely sexual with Newt after today.) “I just wanted to say hi, I guess. Hear your voice. I’m gonna go to bed, I think.”

Hermann wishes him goodnight; he lays awake for a long time after that.

 

* * *

 

Hermann’s sitting in his office the next day and grading a few lab reports when there’s a knock on the door. To his surprise—and immense distress—it’s Dr. Geiszler. Newt. Newt doesn’t wait to be invited in—which Hermann is thankful for, his voice is likely as distinctive to Newt as Newt’s is to him—just pushes open the door all the way.

“Hey,” Newt says. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve made a shitty first impression on you.”

Hermann’s heart pounds.

“I really don’t mean to leave the lab a mess all the time,” Newt continues, “and I don’t want you to just...think of me as some asshole. So this is me apologizing, I guess. Sorry.”

Hermann nods. Newt fidgets.

“Can you...maybe say something, dude?” Newt says.

Hermann wrings his hands in his lap. “Dr. Geiszler,” he says. “Ah. Newt. There’s something you ought to know.”

He watches Newt blink in surprise at his voice, and then he watches understanding dawn on Newt’s face. “Oh,” Newt says.

“Hello, Newt,” Hermann says, weakly.

 

Newt calms down enough to shut the door, at least, and collapses into one of Hermann’s armchairs with a great deal more flair and melodrama than is strictly necessary. “I swear,” he babbles, “I swear I only started doing it to pay off undergrad student loans, and then I just kinda got used to the extra money, and—”

“Newt,” Hermann says gently, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“This is so _embarrassing_ ,” Newt moans, covering his face.

The corner of Hermann’s lip twitches up. “Newt,” he repeats, and Newt peers between his fingers. “I believe you’re neglecting the other half of the story. The decidedly more embarrassing half. I _called_ a sex hotline.”

“You did,” Newt says, and he brightens immensely. “You did! This _is_ way more embarrassing for you.” He pauses. “Oh my God, we had phone sex. Together.” He pauses again. “Oh my God, you’ve angry-jerked it to me before. Like, _me_ -me.”

“Ah,” Hermann says, smile vanishing, and then he remembers, "so have _you_.”

“So I have,” Newt says, sounding faint, and then he suddenly sits up properly. He looks at Hermann. “Dr. Gottlieb,” he says. “Hermann.”

“Newt,” Hermann says.

Newt stands up. He sits on the corner of Hermann’s desk. “Hermann,” Newt repeats, lowering his voice to that sultry, coy tone he uses on the phone, and Hermann is not proud of his immediate, Pavlovian response. Newt touches Hermann’s arm. “ _Doctor_ Gottlieb.”

“Lock the door,” Hermann breathes.

 

Hermann ends up with a lapful of a _real_ Dr. Geiszler, though none of his fantasies could possibly have prepared him for this—the way Newt moves his hips, the hot kisses Newt mouths up his neck, the little whimpers and whines Hermann draws from him with every touch of skin-on-skin.

“I’m so glad it’s you,” Newt gasps, as Hermann rucks up his shirt and presses a hand to Newt’s chest, thumbs over a nipple.

“Are you?” Hermann says, pleasantly surprised, and nips at Newt’s earlobe. Newt moans happily.

“I _am_ ,” he says. “And you’re just as cute in person, dude.” Hermann squeezes a handful of his nice, round ass, and Newt jumps and moans again. “Uh, not as shy, though.”

“And you’re not exactly big and strong,” Hermann teases. “Though, I must confess, I _much_ prefer this.” He moves his hand down from Newt’s pecs to squeeze at one of his soft sides, his bit of stomach poking out over the top of his skinny jeans, and Newt laughs breathlessly and presses his face to Hermann’s neck, not bothering to remove his glasses. He rolls his hips down in a singular, fluid motion, and Hermann feels himself stiffening. Newt creeps his hand down between them and rubs at the front of Hermann’s trousers, feeling his cock.

“Well, I was right about one thing,” he says, low and absurdly coy in Hermann’s ear, and it’s Hermann’s turn to stifle a laugh. And another moan. Newt’s voice really _does_ do the oddest things to him. “So, doctor,” Newt coos, rubbing his palm against the seam of Hermann’s trousers even harder, and stars spark in Hermann’s vision, “what was that thing you said about bending your horrible, no good colleague over?”

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Hermann says.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at the usual places!


End file.
